


life and death and love and birth

by torrentialTriages



Category: Welcome to the MSO
Genre: ALSO like teeny tiny mention appearances of jess and kaz and keda but like........ Nah son, F/M, all the obnoxious shit brothers do. lovingly. but also to be a jerkass, eli is a pure ray of sunshine, martin is too young to be a mother and he doesnt even have two little brothers to nag. the nerve, minor appearance of martin argent. he tries so hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torrentialTriages/pseuds/torrentialTriages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>is there anything that's worth more / than peace and love on the planet earth?</i>
</p><p>originally a birthday fic for eli's birthday (jan. 11), completed way too late</p>
            </blockquote>





	life and death and love and birth

**Author's Note:**

> as is with works that havent been published yet, i have no idea how much of canon im overlapping with here or even if im getting this right. im not entirely satisfied with this ending either but i wanted to get this done

The smog drifts lazily above the cityscape, backlit scarlet orange by the setting sun. He feels rather adventurous, sitting up on the roof with the violin twins and Altai, legs dangling cheerfully off the edge of the building, watching as Manhattan dims, and sends out its sparkling lights below, awaiting the dark like little fireflies in the distance.

It won't be long before Abe or Alan comes looking for him.

\--

"Where's Jess?" Martin hollers, English horn in a death grip, and Eli finds himself looking around worriedly for the flautist, even though he's firmly placed her in the mental category of 'sworn rival/shady bitch'. They have over a minute before they have to walk onstage like they belong at Carnegie, like they know what they're doing, and Jess, having a kind of important solo that neither Takeda nor Kazuko can pull off on such short notice, is (unfortunately?) necessary for the show to go on.

Altai bumps into him from behind and he turns around to steady her on instinct. She whispers a quick "Thanks", and he smiles broadly at her, a reflex. In the few seconds that they spend in proximity, his mind automatically catalogs the wristbands on her arms (he thinks he saw Hyun wearing the same kind?), the way her brown hair curls sweetly over her shoulder, her lashes framing her ice-blue sparkling eyes, the exact quirk of her mouth-

And then the moment is over, they resume hunting for (and find) Jess, and his nerves don't calm 'til quite after the bright stage lights have stopped shining in his face and they're all spilling out into the cool lamplit night of the parking lot, shouting and jostling and laughing and they're so glad, to have gone through that successfully as possible, _together,_ and in that instant, carried by the emotional high, Eli knows he has never felt more rightful to be there, like he truly _belongs somewhere,_ right there in their ranks.

He feels connected, like he is _them_ , a group of one, and he knows that in that moment they all feel _so powerfully_ that it is _so good to be alive_.

\--

"So," says Abe, one afternoon after Rudolph has dropped them back off at the Ritz after practice. "What were those eyes you were giving the strings section, hey?"

"What?" Oh no, Alan had caught up to them.

"It's nothing," Eli tells them hastily. "Leave me alone."

"No, come on, we gotta have this talk," Abe insists gleefully, slinging an arm around Eli's shoulders in the most annoyingly brotherly fashion. "Alan, did you know our little baby brother here has been crushin' hard on the cello player?" Alan shoots Abe a wary bitter glare (he still hasn't forgiven Abe. It scrapes at Eli's nerves, to be honest, he wants them to be able to heal things again), which shifts into a smug smirk directed at Eli (oh no).

"Noooo, let me go," he whines, struggling feebly against Abe's firm grasp. Alan's additional weight doesn't help when he leans an arm on Eli's shoulder, smirking slyly like the Cheshire cat.

"Listen, little man," Abe tells Eli conspiratorially as the three walk (Abe swaggers, Alan strides, Eli stumbles under their smug weights) through the hotel lobby. "Whatever you do, you make sure you bang her before she dumps you, okay? Fuck h-"

 _"Abraham,"_ barks Alan sternly, echoing in the open space. His grip tightens on Eli's other shoulder. His grin has slid off his face, mouth a hostile slash towards Abe above Eli's head. Abe wilts a little (adding weight to Eli, aughhh).

"Okay, اسف,"says Abe hastily (Eli isn't really sure if he means it). "But, I mean it, Eli, you're gonna want to-"

"I'm not gonna treat Altai like a conquest," Eli whines plaintively, not nearly as loud as Alan's reprimand but loud enough for the old white guy sitting in an armchair in the lobby next to the elevator to look up from his newspaper and shoot them a steely-glinted glare. Eli thinks one of the old man's eyebrows is lifted in shocked curiosity. He cringes apologetically.

"I didn't say that, I mean-"

"Looks, can we continue this _later?_ " Eli finally manages to shrug their arms off as they approach the elevator. "I mean _later_ later, not as soon as the elevator gets here."

"Damn, foiled," mutters Abe, but Alan only nods briskly.

Five minutes later, up in their hotel room, Alan pops his head into the living room of sorts: "So, Eli, about your little crush..."

_"I said later, oh my gosh."_

\--

Later, later, there's always time to do it later, Eli thinks wistfully as he stands staring at his packed suitcase, staring back at him open-faced with his clothes and belongings and his saxophone sitting neatly on the bed next to him, locked up in its case. The silence is... deafening, without his brothers there with him.

He's had to stay in America, instead of going back to Belgium. At first he didn't understand why. He wanted to go home, he absolutely does, the memory of the Harper house a nebulous mass of yearning and conflict in his mind, but now... now, staring at the small black velvet boxes in his palm, emotions fluttering erratically around his head like trapped butterflies, he thinks he understands. Why he has to stay.

 _Home_ isn't in Europe anymore. It's in Altai's eyes.

\--

She's wearing the ring. He knows, he's seen it, he's tentatively sent a letter in the mail, asking her if she wanted to see him again, heart full to bursting with eager anticipation and nerves in case of the reply, and he's received her answer with bursting heart and doves fluttering in his stomach, emotions spilling out of him in a way that makes him laugh excitedly, clutching her paper in both hands. He's run down to the florist's and he feels like he's noticing, for the first time, how bright the sun is, how vibrant the leaves of trees are, their rustling so musical and moving and so _alive_ , like him, how good it is to be alive right now, and when he sees her the world will seem so unbearably bright, but he knows that that is the best way to feel, to see the world.

In a few days he'll see her in person. He thinks again of the glint of metal on her tan skin, and breaks into a joyous smile, contagious in its cheer.

And life is _so beautiful!_

**Author's Note:**

> the harpers presumably speak moroccan arabic. اسف (aasif) = sorry. if i got anything wrong _please_ tell me, this isn't a language i'm anywhere close to being fluent in yet but i'm trying!


End file.
